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by hawkywithshawzy



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 1988, Chicago, Chicago Blackhawks, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Song Lyrics, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 09:51:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10215086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkywithshawzy/pseuds/hawkywithshawzy
Summary: Based on the song I Don't Dance by Lee Brice, or basically a collection of times where Jon realized Pat's got him wrapped around his finger.





	

_ I’ll never settle down, _

_ That’s what I always thought. _

_ Yeah, I was that kind of man, _

_ Just ask anyone. _

Hockey was the love of Jonathan’s life. Everyone knew that; from the time he was two years old to now being considered a vet in the NHL, hockey was the only thing on his mind. Late nights at the rink, early morning workouts with the boys, reading up on the news of the next generation. It was his passion, his one and only. Relationships weren’t really his  _ thing. _

That is, until he met Patrick Kane.

Pat was a skinny thing, all but 5’5, waltzing around the locker room like it’s been his for years. He was an easy talker, all dimples and toothy grins and pink lips. His hands were softer than his skin, flushed and constantly dripping with sweat, and his hockey spoke without words. He could rattle off obscene stats at any request, and he only liked strawberry flavored protein shakes. 

Some time has gone by since then, the days of curly hair and skinny jeans long gone in Jon’s rearview mirror. But one thing hasn’t changed much: he was completely and stupidly gone for Patrick Kane after all these years.

_ I don’t dance, but here I am, _

_ Spinning you around and around in circles. _

_ It ain’t my style, but I don’t care, _

_ I’d do anything with you anywhere. _

_ Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand, _

_ 'Cause, I don’t dance. _

It starts off in the locker room after practice at the Ice House. The Blackhawks are riding a four game win streak, fresh off their Christmas break. Buzzed and soaking in the excitement in the air, Jon peels off his gear, soaked in sweat but feeling accomplished nonetheless. Seabs is next to him, bobbing his head along to the beat of whatever Christmas song is blaring through the speakers overhead. Shawzy is full on dancing on the opposite side of the room, poking at Pat through his socks to get up and join him.

“Pat, we all know you love Mariah Carey. Let it be free, c’mon, get up you lazy fuck! Dance with me!” he shouts, moving his arms in a way that looks more like a five year old was trying to figure out the beat.

As more guys pile into the room and into their stalls, a mix of humming and singing gets louder  and louder. 

“Christmas was three days ago, you loser, we can’t keep playing this shit over and over,” Pat whines, but getting up out of his stall anyway. He starts to shake his hips in a way that looks like he spent time practicing it, and locks eyes with Jon.

“C’mon Tazer, you’re next.  _ Baby all I want for Christmas, is YOU!”  _ he screams, making his way over to where Jon has sunk deeper and deeper into the depths of his stall.

“I can’t dance Kaner, you know that. No way. I’m staying in here,” he says, bringing his knees up to his chest and curling himself in a ball. “I have absolutely  _ no  _ rhythm. Ain’t happening,” he huffed, watching as Pat made grabby hands at him.

“It’s not hard, I’ll teach you,  _ c’mon  _ Jonny!” he says as he moves to drag him out of the safe confines of his stall. “Get out here, Seabs, can I get a little help here?”

They manage to pull him out of his stall, and that’s how he ends up standing in front of Pat, holding his hands and watching as his smile grows across his cheeks.

“‘Kay, we’re gonna start easy. Here, I’m gonna spin you in a circle, you ready?” he asks, gripping his hands a little harder now. Jon swallows and realized his throat is dry, he should drink some water, but Pat is looking at him with such earnest that makes all the words fall out of his brain and into a pile of mush at the floor. “Mhmm,” he manages, a small smile resting on his lips.

Pat swings their hands in the hair and whips Jon around him, twirling him again and again until he’s laughing and can’t tell left from right.

“Kaner, Kaner, Pat, you gotta slow down!” he says between laughs, “I’m gonna puke, the world is spinning, oh my go-“ he’s stopped abruptly, coming to rest in Pat’s arms. He’s got his arms around Jon’s waist, smile dopey and contagious and Jon realizes where he is, giggling as Pat catches his breath.

“Told you it wasn’t very hard,” was all he said before he released Jon and went off to go shower. Jon could still feel the way his head spun, while everything was blurry but he was focusing on Pat’s face, singing along while taking Jon on a joy ride. Jon hated dancing, but with Pat, it was kind of fun, letting himself be man-handled.

Pat’s got him wrapped around his finger, damnit.

_ Love’s never come my way, _

_ I’ve never been this far. _

_ 'Cause you took these two left feet, _

_ And waltzed away with my heart. _

 

Being sick was something that Jon hated more than most things - the stuffy nose, the coughing, the headaches and nausea. It wasn’t something anybody enjoyed, but Jon hated it probably the most.

The Blackhawks are on a three game swing in California, and while Jon tried to trick the trainers and doctors into letting him go, the thermometer told him that the couch was going to be his best friend, and that he had to sit this one out. 

“It won’t be that long, dude, it’s only three days,” Pat had said, while packing his clothes into a duffel bag. “You won’t even know that I’m gone.”

It was Jon’s second day spent in bed, reading and napping and watching weird documentaries on Netflix. “But I’m gonna be lonely,” he whined, trying to sit up enough to where Pat was standing near the edge of the bed. He didn’t have to be at the airport for another hour or so, so he had some time to hangout before leaving him.

“Do you really have to go?” he whispered into Pat’s neck, nuzzling in and breathing deep. Pat wiggled his arms around him, holding him tight. He took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I do,” he said softly, “I’m sorry babe,” he trailed off, settling a kiss on Jon’s head. “It’s not forever, just a couple of days. I promise.” Jon could feel his breaths get even and slow, falling asleep snuggled deep into Pat’s worn out sweatshirt.

When Jon woke up a couple hours later, his head was foggy and the room was dark. Pat’s side of the bed was empty, and his stomach felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a water and apple from the fridge, gulping it down as he sat down on the couch. He ended up falling asleep watching Bob Ross paint some kind of landscape on his TV, and before he realized it, the weekend was over and he could hear Pat come through the door, kicking his shoes off on the welcome mat. Jon was back in his bed, dozing in and out of consciousness when the bedroom door squeaked open.

“Jonny?” Pat whispered through the dark of the room, the shades pulled tight even though it was two in the afternoon. Jon just hummed in response, his voice muffled by the layers of blankets he had pulled over him. “Jesus, man, it’s freezing in here, did you shut the heat off?”

Jon’s head popped out from under the mountain of covers. 

“I have a fever, asshole,” he mumbled, turning over so his back was facing Pat, still standing at the door. He moved across the room, throwing his bag down and clothes with it. “And I can barely breathe, so the heat makes it even harder.”

Pat’s face scrunched up in pain; it had been three days and Jon was still sick. He hated seeing him looking so lifeless, curled up and sniffling into his pillow. Pat weaseled his way in next to him, pulling Jon’s head into his lap. Jon felt a wave of relief wash over him, a feeling that he got whenever we was in Pat’s arms, all warm and safe and  _ home.  _

Jon wasn’t the one for words, especially when he was sick, but he managed to pull his head up far enough to lock eyes with Pat, blue and watery and  _ home _ . 

“Hey, Pat?” he asked, his voice rough and laced with sleep and cough medicine. He was drugged up and felt like shit, but this was the best he’s felt in days, so he’s planning on taking the feeling he has bubbling up inside of him and running with it.

“Mhmm?” Pat said, running a hand through his over-grown hair. It was long and annoying but Pat liked it so he hasn’t made an appointment to get it cut yet. 

“I love you,” Jon said, so tender it could’ve easily been missed if Pat wasn’t listening hard enough. It was bold and risky and Jon never felt more free in his life. 

For Jon, it had always been hockey and school and then hockey and nothing else, and now Jon had hockey and Pat and hockey and Pat together, intertwined, meshing together into a perfectly imperfect mess of love and passion and sweat and Stanley Cups. It was scary and beautiful and everything he could’ve ever wanted.

And then Pat was looking at him like the world just ended, but in the best way possible, but he still hasn’t said anything out loud and Jon is started to feel nervous and anxious and everything in between. “You gonna say anything?” he asked, hesitant to break the tension of the moment that hung in the air.

“I love you too,” Pat finally said, letting a couple of tears fall from his eyes. Jon reached up to wipe them away before they trickled off his chin. He started giggling as more and more tears started flowing down his cheeks, Pat joining in when he heard Jon’s chuckles escape. “I should be the one crying, you goof,” he said, grabbing Pat’s free hand and rubbing his thumb over the rough knuckles. “I’ve never been in love, Pat, never before you. So, you’ve got me forever, okay?”

Pat looked at him which such fierceness it struck him in the best way, leaving him winded and speechless and so completely and stupidly in love. Not a lot of things were able to find their way into Jon’s heart, but Pat had packed a bag and was here to stay. And  _ God,  _ did it feel good.

_ No, I don’t dance, but here I am, _

_ Spinning you around and around in circles. _

_ It ain’t my style, but I don’t care, _

_ I’d do anything with you anywhere. _

_ Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand, boy, _

_ 'Cause, I don’t dance. _

Fancy dates weren’t the kind of thing Jon and Pat did; they much more prefered to veg out on the couch, watching God knows what on the Food Network, while snuggled deep under the blankets, sipping hot coco. That was Jonny’s ideal date. But it was their anniversary, their 8 year anniversary, and be damned if Jon wanted to do something nicer than falling asleep before nine, which is how most of their ‘date nights’ went. 

So he left a note on the counter that read,  _ Be ready by 7 sharp. And wear something nice. Xo, Jon _ before heading off to get some groceries from the Whole Foods down the street. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon, so he had time to waste so Pat can get ready, keep him wondering about what they were doing.

When he got back, trudging up the back stairs, groceries in tow, Pat was sitting on the couch, dressed and ready to go. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, ones that hugged his ass and sat nicely on his hips, a navy blue dress shirt, the top 3 buttons undone, and a cologne that smelled like he came straight from the Bahamas. He was handsome and beautiful and all his, and the feeling that came over him was overwhelmingly sizzling and warm and it made his fingers tingley. 

“Hey babe,” Pat said casually, absentmindedly scrolling through his Twitter feed. “I know I’m a little early, but I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to be ready by the time you got back,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I’ll put the food away. You go get dressed.” He reached up a gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and pushed him in the direction of the bedroom. “Go. Get handsome,” he teased, starting to put the groceries in the cabinets.

If Jon ever admitted the feeling that was building in his stomach to anyone, he wouldn’t ever live it down. He put on an outfit similar to Pat’s, except he opted for a lighter colored dress shirt. He was still pretty tan from the lake, so any chance he got to show off his skin, he took it. He stuffed the tiny box he had hidden in his shoe closet for the last couple of months into his back pocket, feeling the weight of it press into him. Tonight was the night, and Jon hadn’t felt so sure and so conflicted at the same time.

Pat was something different. This wasn’t like choosing who to give his  _ third  _ Stanley Cup off to, or choosing who to pass to on an odd man rush. This was him choosing a person, someone to hold onto for the rest of time, someone to come home to. This was going to be his future, the drool on the pillow in the morning and the coffee cup next to his on his counter in the kitchen. The little bare feet running on the carpet in the morning, the clippings of scribbled crayon that hung on the walls. It was choosing the one human being you were going to share every moment of your life with, the human being you’re going to love until you’re both in the ground. It was a huge deal, and Jon didn’t know how to stop time and make the moments pass slow. He was ready for this, ready for Patrick, but that didn’t stop his hands from shaking as he took a couple deep breaths in the mirror.

As Pat would say, it’s showtime, baby.

As they piled in the car, Pat kept prodding Jon with questions about where they were going. Jon had already prepared their dinner while Pat was out working out, so he had it hidden in the trunk as they put in the car in drive and made their way towards Lake Shore Drive.

“You’re just gonna have to wait and find out when we get there,” Jon said with a smirk, basking in the setting sun reflecting soft shadows on Pat’s face. He drummed his fingers along to the beat of whatever was playing on the radio, watching as the city started to come to life as more and more people filled the streets.

Soon enough, they were pulling around the Adler Planetarium, parking on the driveway right by the lake. There were a couple of people scattered around the path that wound it’s way around the lake front. He had Pat carry the blanket, while he carried the basket, and they found the perfect spot on the lawn, the view of the city nothing like he’s ever seen.

As if reading his mind, Pat looked around and said, “This is where you took me on our first date, when we were 20. And you wore an  _ awful  _ purple shirt,” he added, because he was a little shit.

Jon laughed at that, throwing his head back and letting the fading sun keep his blush that was crawling up his neck from showing. “That was a bad time, we now know that purple is  _ not  _ my color,” he said, still laughing as he began to pull out the food from the basket: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with all kinds of fruits and potato chips. 

“You told me to dress nice, only to be given a PB&J? Are you kidding me, Tazer?” Pat asked, digging into his sandwich anyway. Pat must’ve noticed the panic setting in, Jon frantic to stutter out a response, so Pat just reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it fiercely.

“I love it. Seriously. And I love you. I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said, smiling. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping on chocolate milk and watching the sunset over the monster of buildings that constructed the Chicago skyline. The amount of people near them began to thin out, leaving them alone with the twinkling lights of the Sears Tower and John Hancock building. Jon found himself looking at Pat, watching the way the city came to life, even though the day was almost over. He found himself digging in his pocket and pulling the box out, rubbing his fingers over the soft fabric that covered the outside of it.

“Hey,” he said softly, causing Pat to turn and look at him. He had a little chocolate milk mustache on his top lip, and some jelly from the PB&J was stuck to the side of his mouth. Jon wanted to kiss it right off, but he held onto the moment, taking a deep breath, probably his thousandth of the night.

He stood up, offering his hand out for Pat to join him. “We don’t have any music you goofball,” he said, but stood anyway, lacing their fingers together. They started to move together slowly, Pat’s head finding it’s way to Jon’s shoulder, resting there and breathing him in deep. “I thought you didn’t dance,” Pat said, words catching the soft skin below Jon’s chin.

“I don’t,” he said simply, “but you like it. And it’s kinda nice, so.” Pat lifted his head to look Jon in the eyes, kissing him sweetly and bringing his head back down to Jon’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, just swaying to their own beat, listening to the sounds of the waves lapping against the wall, the distant honking in the distance, feeling the even breathing they had going, in sync, like everything else they did.

“Marry me,” Jon said, so quiet but confident, opening the box to reveal batching silver bands, the engraving of  _ 1988  _ standing out in the light of the moon. They stopped moving so Pat could untangle himself from the limbs that connected them, and gaped that the box before him. He took the bands out of the box, looking at them closely, a couple tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“You and me forever, right?” Jon said, watching as Pat put them carefully back in the box and started nodding his head. 

“Forever and ever and ever and ever,” Pat said, leaping forward to kiss Jon again, and he could feel his smile on his lips. Jon pulled away enough to get out: “Well let me put it on your finger, damnit!” Pat immediately obliged, sticking his hand out and wiggling his fingers, until Jon got the right band out and slipped it on his finger. “Now yours, c’mon Jonny, lemme do it,” Pat said, snatching the box from his hands and doing the same with Jon’s ring finger. They looked at their hands together, admiring how the matching bands just looked  _ right,  _ and now they felt like they were finally  _ home.  _

“We’re gonna have to dance at our wedding, you know that right?”

  
They had time.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic in a LONG time, so I hope you enjoy! Thank you to Ria (andrewshawsome) for going with me on this adventure of world salad and making something good out of it. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> The song that inspired the fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBEBbgQEJy4  
> I'm on tumblr! Come talk to me: http://captaingrumblypants.tumblr.com/  
> Here's Ria's AO3, you should def go give her stuff a read!: http://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewshawsome/pseuds/andrewshawsome  
> And in case you were wondering where Jon took Pat for their date, this is it! It's one of my favorite places in the city, it never disappoints: https://c1.staticflickr.com/9/8022/7531680808_f138e5708e_b.jpg
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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